Juice
by Bawgdan
Summary: "Lust rubied my blood, gave me the gait of an uncaught criminal, and I felt like I could walk forever." Stephanie Danler


It took a lot of rummaging around her headspace to understand what about Hisoka rubs her the wrong way. In the middle of stealing a pink diamond for their leader, he rolled on D². Machi looked into his eyes, his pupils reminding her of a solar eclipse. Face twisted up into the ugliest frown, her mouth hurt for it—that's how dedicated she was to the dirty-look she gave him. When he smiled, she noticed his two dimples for the first time.

He fished out the tiny bag of pills and threw them at her.

"I'm going to enjoy myself." Is what he said to her, smacking and licking his lips.

Misfits are people who don't fit anywhere. Hisoka's colors change to match his surroundings.

An evil thought came to life inside her head that day. She enclosed the bag of pills in her hand and wondered—what if Hisoka just knows himself? There is no conflict between his personality and the assumption of his peers. He is just whole.

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The heart wants what it wants? Well...

Machi's heart just beats. It has never 'wanted' anything.

Hisoka randomly calls her in the middle of the day. It has been a month since they've last spoken. The last time she saw him, he was grinding his teeth and sweating over a dead body. The accidental kill wasn't satisfying.

"What do you want?" Machi watches children play from the window of an Inn she's stayed in for the past three nights.

"I want to fuck you. That's all."

She hangs up in his face. Throws her phone across the room like it's a cursed artifact.

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"White is your color, Machi." He has the nerve to speak to her three months later at a gala they'd been invited to by a drug kingpin loyal to the troupe. Pakunoda had forced her in a slinky satin dress and protested that a panty line is backwoods behavior. Curls hang around the side of her face like whiskers.

Hisoka perfectly looks the part of a social-elite in his tailored suit. They had all made a bet that he wouldn't come but the moment Machi stepped foot inside of the establishment, she caught the scent of Hisoka's energy permeating through the air. It's so strong, the taste of sweetness dissolves along her tongue. Her saliva goes down like a glob of honey.

"Flattery won't work on me." She snips at him, not forgetting that he called her just to tell her that he wanted to fuck her.

He shrugged it off and left her to contemplate the hyperawareness of not wearing any underwear. Hisoka isn't much of a misfit. Tonight, as he mingles with complete strangers, Machi understands that he purposefully dresses like a moron to throw people off, but people are drawn to him like bugs to light.

Lifting his head from a deep conversation with a nicely dressed Chrollo, he winks at her from across the room. She empties her flute of wine into a vase of phallic-like peonies.

She runs off to the women's restroom to deal with her shame.

Machi snatches up a paper towel, runs it under warm water so she can wipe the shimmer from her face. As she runs it across her lips, it beads up and sticks to her skin. The runny mascara makes her eyes water. Releasing a huff, Machi stamps her heel, defeated.

"Damn it, Pakunoda..." She spits into the sink. A stream of swears bubble up from her throat.

Machi busies herself with undressing her hair. She snatches a pin too hard from her scalp and grunts as it knots in a curl. Never. Ever. Again. In her life. She repeats this in her head until each silk curl Pakunoda had burned into her mane flops around her shoulders.

The door clicks open. Supernaturally, she knows it's Hisoka. She doesn't have anything to say. In her mind, she chastises him for following young women into public restrooms but she keeps it to herself.

He so effortlessly pulls off the random wealthy dickhead aesthetic, it makes her head spin. It means he has layers that she can't really ignore. Nobody knows a thing about Hisoka. He happened out of thin air. Chrollo never asked the right questions. Hisoka is the only disaster she disagrees with her leader about.

"I guess I can't piss in peace either." She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. There's still glitter on her face.

"Relax. I'm not going to stop you from pissing." He waves a hand at her.

They stand in an awkward silence. The running water thunders against the bottom of the sink. Machi's heels click when struts off into a stall. She hikes up her dress, squats over the toilet and pees. Loudly.

"Machi." Hisoka's feet stop in front of the stall. Machi gets a strong feeling that he just wanted to say her name.

She flushes the handle with her heel, almost tripping in her dress.

"What?" She waits to step out of the stall.

After some time of him not speaking, she swings open the stall door. They hold their eyes together. It causes her cheeks to turn pink.

She had just peed with him technically standing next to her. That was a moment of vulnerability that he did not deserve. Hisoka gives her a knowing smile.

There isn't anything to say. 'I want to fuck you' is hard to bounce back from. She's not even sure if bouncing back is what he is trying to do.

"Are you rolling?" Machi isn't like Chrollo. She will always ask the hard questions.

Instantaneous laughter ripples from his gut. The walls of the restroom feel a lot smaller, filling up with his guttural chokes.

"I'm being serious. Why is that so funny to you?" She raises her voice.

He steps inside of the stall with her and shuts the door behind him. Pinning her down with his presence. She tastes the honey in her mouth all over again. He lowers his face to hers. Their noses touch.

"Do I look like I'm rolling?" Hisoka doesn't blink. He holds his eyes wide open.

His nearness blurs her vision and the stall is shadowed enough to where she can't really make out much of his features.

"I can't tell." She mutters.

"I'm not." His breath caresses her mouth.

It has been a long time since Machi has been this close to anyone. All of her common sense is flipped upside down. She drops her eyes to the exposed center of his collar bone. He didn't wear a tie nor closed the first two buttons of his shirt.

Momentarily she forgets that this is the same Hisoka who talks in dizzying circles.

"I believe you." Her heart suddenly wants. The scientific term might be lust. Where it comes from? Like Hisoka. Out of thin air.

Machi doesn't have to stand on her toes to kiss him. Her stilettos give her the height required to reach him. He sucks the coldness right out of her and drinks it for himself.

He surprises her with D² from his back pocket. Machi gives him the privilege of experiencing a first with her. They both swallowed the pills dry and proceeded to unhook and untie their barriers of clothing.

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And afterwards, a long stretch of time without hearing from him oppresses her. Not a single call, nor a text. He stopped showing up to their meetings. Machi knows the phrase 'hell hath no fury like a scorned woman'. She expected to get to that infuriated point in her mourning, but it never comes. Everything just hurts all over.

The months just collapse to a year.

He had stolen something fundamental from her.

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End file.
